


Reason's Prisoner #3: Readiness is All

by cretkid



Category: West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cretkid/pseuds/cretkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, / it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come. / The readiness is all. " Hamlet</p><p>Continued series of post episode stories for "The Fall's Gonna Kill You"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reason's Prisoner #3: Readiness is All

**Author's Note:**

> Concurrent with "Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow"

Readiness Is All  
============

It wasn't even 9 AM and the nonsense had already reached a fevered pitch. It was a Thursday, and as far as Thursdays went, this one had started out like a manic Monday morning without the benefit of a weekend's rest. The weekend could not come soon enough.

Donna had paced the halls of the West Wing, dropping off files at different destinations and surreptitiously looking for any errand to run that would keep her away from the Operations Bullpen. The moment she had sorted through the morning mail, she knew the picture was going to be a thing, if for no other reason than because he had a light morning. Making mountains out of molehills was his specialty in times like this.

However, he surprised her. When he saw the magazine, he quickly glanced through the article and tossed it aside with the rest of the morning mail. She leaned against the door aghast, wondering who had taken her boss and replaced him with a pod person.

"I like to think I've matured past that stage of adolescent nitpicking," he had said in defense of his actions.

"Since when?!" she had replied.

"Since last week when Sheila Hunting called from the New Yorker and told me that I looked like I had gone ten rounds with Mohammed Ali. Really, Donna, you should give me a heads up when I start to look like Ricky the Raccoon."

"Like that would help," she said before he shooed her out of his office.

She had walked back to her desk to find yet another copy of "Chicken Little" sitting in her keyboard. It was the tenth such little gift left in her area since the whole Chinese satellite thing. Someone had programmed her screen saver so that little fireballs appeared to fall on the White House; she had a feeling that Charlie had his hand in that one. Ginger and Bonnie, with Josh's help, had rigged a net of ping pong balls to fall on her as she passed through Josh's doorway one morning. Carol made it a point to leave copies of all NASA memos concerning falling objects in her in-box. Ed and Larry made clucking noises whenever she passed in the hall. Sam at least had been cute in leaving a little plush chicken with a fruity-drink umbrella taped to its head on her desk.

Josh, on the other hand, left books. Anthologies of fairy tales and nursery rhymes, as well as every single edition that could be found on the Barnes and Noble web site of the Chicken Little story. She grabbed the book off her desk and swung it in the air like a battle-axe.

"Okay, enough with the Chicken Little!" she bellowed for all to hear. "I mean it! It's been two weeks! You've had your fun, now let it slide!"

She turned around and bumped into Josh. Jumping back, she regained her footing and pummeled him on the arm with the book. "Stop that! You startled me!"

"Someone should consider cutting down your caffeine intake." She pounded him once more with the flat edge of the book. "Ow!"

"I hope you get a bruise. And I thought you had turned a new leaf, getting past that stage of adolescent nitpicking."

"Well, this is completely different. This is getting more for my dollar in the Donna Moss entertainment industry."

She pounded him again, dropped the book on the table, and foraged in a desk drawer for a phone book.

"Whom are you trying to find?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Another used bookstore that will take yet another copy of "Chicken Little" off my hands." She shrugged her shoulder to get him to back off a step.

"You're giving away my fine gifts?!" he cried in mock indignation.

Donna flipped through the yellow pages until she found the used books listings. "I'm donating your fine gifts to a needy and charitable cause. I do not need the local Salvation Army to think I have a Chicken Little fetish."

"I'm crushed."

"I mean it, Josh. Cut it out with the Chicken Little stuff."

Josh sat on the corner of her desk, idly thumbing through the latest edition to Operation 'The Sky is Falling'. "What are you going to do? Not bring me coffee in the morning? No, wait, you already don't do that."

"I'll tell CJ it was your idea to send everyone in to her office a few weeks ago claiming responsibility for the leak about school vouchers."

Josh sat up a little straighter. "You wouldn't." Everyone was well aware of the mood a certain Press Secretary was in that morning, and no one had had the temerity to venture any where near her office.

"Watch me. Though, I have to say, The Crucible thing, that was a bit of genius."

"That was all Zach. I wanted him to do this whole Deep Throat thing." Josh's smile left his face, and he toed the floor. "That was funny three weeks ago." He slipped off the corner of her desk and retreated quietly into his office.

Donna sat down heavily in her chair. She held the book in her hand and then hid it carefully in a drawer with the rest of the books Josh had given her. As she opened up her email program she noticed that CJ must have ventured out of her office. CJ was reading something from a file folder, and from the thickness of it Donna had no doubt that it was the cause of her bad mood. She herself had not looked at the morning wires to see what was afoot, but judging from the slam of the door that could be heard throughout the West Wing, it had to be a doozy.

As she read through the morning stack of email, she spotted Carol making a breakaway the Press Office. It looked like Carol was headed to the Mess; however when she saw Donna, she headed towards Donna's desk.

Leaning over the edge of the desk and pretending to check for some file, Carol asked, "Is it possible to set a laser printer to stun? Because, seriously, if CJ doesn't calm down soon, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Donna held back a roar of laughter and simply placed a hand on Carol's shoulder. "Carol, welcome to the club. You are now finally, after 3 years, an official member of 'My boss is a pinhead-anonymous'. We have weekly meetings, every Tuesday in the Mess. We've been saving you a chair for quite some time now."

"She got here at 4:30 this morning, Donna! She was here at 4:30 yesterday morning and she will probably be here at 4:30 tomorrow morning. When she gets here that early, I can't regulate her caffeine intake. Now, if this was Tired-CJ, I could handle it, because she's not openly hostile to anyone. But this is Irate-CJ, and it's been going on since..."

No one finished that sentence anymore. Donna nodded in sympathy. "So, what's got her riled up?"

"What doesn't?" Carol collapsed in a nearby chair. "She has me pulling the transcripts for all briefings pre- and post- State of the Union, and whatever briefing letters we posted to the website during that time. Now that I think of it, do you have the polling numbers on the Children in Poverty provision?"

Donna wheeled over to one of the filing cabinets and picked out a thick file of the DNC's polls over the last 5 months. She dumped it on Carol's lap. "They are in there somewhere. Margaret's been helping me set up a cross-referencing database, but I haven't figured out her new system yet."

"I'll hit Margaret next, but at least this will get me started. CJ wants the briefing pushed back an hour, so I've got time. Oh, and do you have Advil in your stash drawer? I have a feeling that both CJ and I will need it before the day's out, and I forgot to restock last weekend."

"Yeah, sure." Donna opened one of her bottom drawers and pulled out an economy size bottle of Advil. "I've got another in here, so take this one."

"Thanks." Carol stood, carefully balancing the folders and medication bottle. "I should get back before CJ starts looking for me."

"Want me to come save you at lunch?"

"Please."

"Gotcha covered. Remember, Tuesdays in the Mess. It will be your turn to bring the punch."

Donna waited until Carol was out of eye sight before heading for Josh's office. She leaned in through the threshold, holding the both sides of the frame. "You should talk to CJ."

Josh looked up from the newspaper he was reading and regarded her with seeming disinterest. His hand never left his face, forefinger lying across his upper lip and his thumb pushing at his cheek until his right eye was almost closed. "Why would I want to step into that nest of snakes? You saw her when she came in today. She's about ready to bite the head off the next person who crosses her path."

"She needs to get her mind off whatever is bothering her," Donna replied, stepping inside his office and leaning back against the frame.

"You wouldn't happen to know what that is, would you?" he asked, folding his newspaper.

"No, but you could find out."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you're a good friend and good friends offer a new perspective on the day."

"As much as I enjoy your cookie cavalcade of confectionery advice, I think I would rather leave the building today with my spleen intact, thank you very much."

"It's probably the Children in Poverty report," Donna said, taking an active interest in the newspaper he had folded on his desk. There above the fold was the story that she hazarded was the root cause of CJ's bad mood, and considering Carol's requests, she figured her guess was not far off the mark.

Josh bounced up from his chair, stretching as he stood. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Be yourself."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Donna waved her hands in a dismissive manner towards the general direction of CJ's office. "Go do your gerbil routine."

"My what!?"

He didn't do it often, but when Josh was in rare form everyone took to the trenches to ride out the onslaught. "You prance, you bounce, you jump and you shout. You carry on like you are the center of the universe--"

"I'm not?"

Donna didn't stop to comment on the insufferable smirk that had taken root to his face. "--and demand the attention of whatever room you happen to be breathing it at the time. You suck the energy right out of the room. You are a black hole."

"I do not prance."

Of all the things he could comment on, she knew the prancing bit would get his attention. "Then what do you call that little display you put on when you came back Florida with Mike Piazza's autograph?"

"That was more of a swagger. I might even call it a strut."

"Prance."

"Swagger."

"Prance."

"Okay, can we *not* do this?"

She couldn't agree more. She found it slightly amusing that his voice went up nearly an octave when he said 'not'. "Go talk to CJ."

"Why?"

"Because right now she's sucking all of the energy out of the West Wing. For the sake of your coworkers, and especially Carol, go cancel her out or depolarize the room or something before everything grinds to a screeching halt."

Josh had a puzzled expression on his face. "I think you're mixing metaphors. I'm not even sure there was a metaphor to begin with. If you're so concerned, how come you're not going in there?"

"What, are you kidding? She still hasn't forgiven me for the Roger Rabbit escapade. Turnabout is fair play. And you owe me for the Chinese satellite thing."

"I suppose you're right. But if she starts throwing things at me, I am gunning for you." He looked around his office for something to be gerbil-ish about, and grabbed the magazine from the desk. He paused at his door and turned back to the room. "You're not trying to get rid of me so you can do something to my office, are you?"

"Why would you think that?" Donna asked, trying to be coy.

"Because of the Chicken Little things."

"Stop being paranoid."

"I am not paranoid. I am overly concerned for the state of my office, seeing that in the past two weeks I and several willing accomplices have, you know--"

"Seen fit to make my life a living hell?" Donna offered.

"I wouldn't put it that way. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Go talk to CJ."

"You'll leave my office alone?"

"Talk. CJ. Now."

"'Kay."

 

 

 

 

"Busy?" Donna asked from the threshold to Ainsley's office. It was darker than the last time she had seen it. The bare bulb that hung from the ceiling was off. Instead, a floor lamp lit the small office, as well as a small desk lamp. Someone had managed to control the temperature.

Looking up from her work, Ainsley's face was nearly expressionless. "Donna, what can I do for you?"

Donna sidestepped the visitor's chair and quickly sat down in it. "What are you working on?"

"Mr. Babish has asked that I review judicial appointments for the past two years." Ainsley flipped a page on her legal pad.

"So, what's it like working for Oliver Babish? Is it any better than Lionel Tribbey? I'm not ashamed to say that man scared me." Donna bounced one knee up and down on the ground.

"Seeing that Mr. Babish has seen fit to give me assignments appropriate for an associate White House Counsel while Mr. Tribbey had me primarily review post-mortem case files that really had nothing to do with anything, I would say working for Mr. Babish is a step up in the world."

"Is there something I can do for you, Donna?" Ainsley asked again, turning to her laptop screen.

"Nope. I'm hiding from Josh."

"May I ask why?"

"To play on his innate sense of paranoia. Ever have a day when even the sound of someone's voice is enough to set you over the edge? When everything sort of builds to a boiling point and if you don't do something about it you're going to pop?"

"Constantly."

"Seriously?" Donna leaned forward in her chair.

"No."

"You're pulling my leg."

"Yes."

Donna casually wondered if Ainsley had been taking lessons from Toby in the art of delivering the one-word answer. "You heard about the Chinese satellite thing."

Ainsley dropped her pen across the legal pad, crossed her arms over the top of her desk and leaned forward. Only her head and shoulders were visible over the massive expanse of desk, making the lawyer seem short. "I've also heard that they've taken the word 'gullible' out of the dictionary."

"For the record, no one told me that thousands of these things fall to the ground every year."

"It didn't occur to you that this happens all the time?"

"No. Yes. No. I don't know."

"What does this have to do with feeding on Josh's paranoia?"

"If he can't find me, he will think I'm plotting against him."

"Are you?"

"I prefer psychological payback to actual revenge. If he thinks I'm going to do something to him, he works himself into a tizzy trying to anticipate what I have planned."

"But you don't actually have anything planned."

"Nope. That's the beauty of it. Josh thinks he can get a day's entertainment out of me thinking the sky is going to fall; I can nurse this for at least a week." Donna looked at her watch, and calculated in her mind how long it would take until Josh outstayed his welcome in CJ's office. "Well, Josh should be getting back to his office about now."

"Let me know how things turn out," Ainsley replied as Donna left the room.

 

END


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